


The Temple

by MFLuder



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Aliens Made Them Do It, Bisexual Rodney McKay, Dark, Heavy Angst, M/M, Not Happy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: At his feet were three men dressed in short togas but with wreaths on their heads, gazing up adoringly. One was prostrate across the Scholar's feet, one had his hand on the Scholar's toga by his feet, and the third was actually on his knees behind the standing man, hands possessively clutching at the Scholar's thighs. A very strange, yet erotic bit of art.





	The Temple

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted January 1, 2008, on [my DW](https://mf-luder-xf.dreamwidth.org/153720.html).
> 
> Heed the warnings, friends. This is one of the darkest fics I've written. This is definitely an unhappy and angst-filled AMTDI rather than a quirky version of the trope. I wanted something that felt more "realistic." There is no sense of who is right and who is wrong in this fic. It's dark and messy and complicated.

It was called the Temple of the Scholars and everyone wandering by them, eying them curiously, were dressed in colorful pastel togas and wreaths covering their heads. It was like being at the Renaissance Festival, but Romanesque. It was the biggest fucking cliché possible.

“I swear, SG-1 never had to put up with this shit. One of these days, I'd like to meet a pompous Goa'uld just for some sense of normality,” Rodney muttered to Sheppard who merely glanced sideways at him from behind his sunglasses before returning to the conversation at hand.

“As you can see, Semenla strives to keep the archives together at all costs. Though over many generations we have been culled, we feel knowledge is the only true form of enlightenment and have no need for technology beyond that which eases our slaves’ duties when tending to the fields and wells. Our books are all written in code known only to the Scholars and their assistants. This makes them worthless to the Wraith, who have subsequently left them alone.”

The speaker, Delas, was a man in his early forties with dark hair that curled into little ringlets, wearing a cream toga. Based on the lack of color in his robes and the expansive wreath of vines and berries adorning his head, he easily shone as one of the more well-to-do in the city. 

Suffice it to say, they'd been very confused when they walked through the gate onto a world that had the temperature of Greece in June and the surrounding fauna to fit the image. On either side of the gate had stood a man dressed in such pale red togas so as to be almost pink, with leather sandals and bare heads. Both had held long javelin-type weapons, but once they registered the visitors, they had melted back into their stances, staring straight ahead.

They'd been greeted by a throng of people all smiling and wishing them a good day as they moved on past with baskets of fruit and grain on their heads, or skins of liquid. Several children had come right up to them, greeting them, asking their names, tugging on the group's hands (much to Rodney's dismay) to lead them towards the nearby village.

They had hardly gotten a word in edgewise, and Rodney couldn't help the flush to his face after giving up on trying to speak. Holding it in was hard, but at some point Sheppard tossed him a crooked smile and he managed not to explode or throw things at the _little darlings_. Teyla had simply smiled and nodded with kind patience, making little noises of polite surprise when the children told her something they obviously deemed exciting and important.

Ronon grunted and waded through the crowd.

It wasn't until they met the village's magistrate that they were able to string more than three words together. Once they introduced themselves as peaceful explorers Lt. Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay, blah, blah, blah...the attitude suddenly changed and the children who had previously been playing around their feet backed off and bowed in some funny way before running off. 

“I'm sorry,” the magistrate, whose name Rodney didn't bother to remember, said, “You came wearing color, so they assumed you were working class, as they are.”

When they pressed, the magistrate kept mum and showed them to a room where they sat for approximately an hour before Delas had arrived and ushered them onto a real live chariot, drawn by the nearest thing Pegasus had to horses, apparently. The beasts were about the size of a Clydesdale, but lacked the grace of a horse, making up for it in speed, and obvious ability to drag greater weights. Rodney wasn't sure he'd ever seen so much gold plating in his life. Not to mention the embroidered canopy that threatened to suffocate them if it fell from the supporting rods.

The whole way to the city, home to the Senatorium (the clichés just got worse and worse), was filled with Delas speaking of his people's culture. How color was of the working class. The pale red they'd seen was reserved for the guards (“Kind of girly, don't you think?” Ronon had grunted). Slaves wore pale blacks and browns intended to indicate that, as all color was present, so were the many duties of the slaves. The aristocrats, on the other hand, wore little to no color depending on how high their status was, displaying that they were wedded to one concentration in their line of work. High aides, such as himself (Delas was quick to point out), wore cream. The Senators wore white with sashes of color. The Scholars and their assistants wore white down to the color of their sandals. Headpieces grew bigger depending on your station. Obviously, a slave couldn't wear anything on their head while working, neither could the warriors fight well with such a distraction.

It made a kind of perverse sense and Rodney even remarked on their ability to recognize the inherent right of smart people to rule. But the sight of slaves soured the deal. It wasn't that any of them were treated badly, and none in the group ever saw a bruise, but rather, a world where knowledge was revered, it seemed, should have moved beyond the need for slaves.

Delas, however, clearly proving his worth to his superiors, noted their discomfort, and ever since they had been ushered into a long rectangular room and been poured a kind of wine, no slave had appeared. It was then that Sheppard had asked just what the Scholars did, leading to the current enthusiastically given, if a bit dull, lecture on the history of Semenla.

Rodney couldn't help the feeling that he was back in undergrad only sitting there because the school insisted he had to take gen eds, even if he was going to get his BA in two years. Oddly enough, the other three members of the team seemed to be fascinated. Maybe it was just because Delas was fairly attractive; for a dark-haired bureaucrat, anyway.

He tried to ignore the fact that the artistically designed hole (for what purpose—air circulation?) in the ceiling allowed light to dance over the man's body which had obviously been prepared with some kind of lotion or oil intended to make it shine.

Midway through his comments on the works of the famous Scholars, Delas was interrupted by Teyla's stomach grumbling. He stopped mid-sentence, a surprised and amused look on his face.

“Please, do forgive me, Delas. It has simply been a time since I last ate. Recently, I am often hungry.” For the first time since Rodney had known her, she looked embarrassed. It was...endearing.

Delas tilted his head in acknowledgment and smiled. “Of course. Your journey has been long today. I will have the cooks prepare a feast for you. I do regret to tell you, though, that before you can step into our hall, you must dress accordingly. I do hope this will not be too much of an inconvenience.”

They all looked at Sheppard who eyed Delas' clothing with a critical eye before shrugging. “Sure. We can join in the costume party, eh, kids?”

Rodney rolled his eyes at Sheppard's affected drawl but allowed himself to be led into a room in another section of the building.

A woman, blonde hair arranged in curls reminiscent of the Hellenistic period (it wasn't his fault art history was one of those gen eds he had to take, or that he retained even the most useless of information), wearing a soft yellow gown approached him.

“Doctor McKay. I am Terrina and am here to dress you. First, you must put down your weapon. You will be allowed to continue carrying it at dinner, but I am afraid it will be difficult to dress you while you are holding onto it so tightly.”

He stammered and blushed, unaware he'd been doing such and hastily put the P-90 down on the table in the center of the room. Terrina smiled and clapped her hands.

At her cue, several young girls rushed out (all in yellow), carrying bolts of cloth and various wreaths. Rodney blanched. It was like ten of his sister at the age of twelve wanting to play dress up.

“From what I am told, you are some form of scientist, yes? What do you do exactly?”

Grateful for the distraction from small hands cleverly running over his body taking measurements, he responded, “I'm the chief scientist where we're from. Basically, I'm the resident genius. I've got two Ph D's—those are awards for highest scholarly achievement—I figure out all our technology and end up saving everyone's ass at the end of the day.” He smirked to himself.

“Oh,” breathed Terrina, a little reverently, if he wasn't mistaken. She snapped her fingers. “Girls. The white!”

In a flurry, the gaggle of apprentices or whatever they were, fled from the room, only to return this time with a bolt of the brightest white fabric he'd ever seen in his life.

“You are not just a scholar, you are a Scholar,” the woman spoke.

Rodney stared. “How is that, so...pristine? I mean, your world isn't exactly dirt and dust free.”

Terrina's eyes twinkled. “It is one of the few 'technological' luxuries we have, and a secret of us seamstresses. Do not make us spill our secrets, now, Scholar. But, perhaps, if you suggest some in negotiations, I am sure the women of your world would appreciate it, yes?”

He nodded, and although he'd never been keen on fabrics or negotiations over fashion, he figured people like Carter and Simpson would throttle him in his sleep if they found out he hadn't brought back magic white cloth. Who knew what they'd use it for, but there it was.

Half an hour later, he was dressed in a gleaming white toga that belted just above his hips and draped over his shoulder in a surprisingly flattering style. Also (thank God) the togas didn't require lack of underclothing. They (rather disturbingly) studied his boxers and whipped up a pair in the same white as his toga. They then placed a wreath that literally had grapes growing on it atop his head and laced up to his knees white footwear. 

Looking in a mirror, he felt utterly ridiculous. But when in Rome...

“You are ready, Doctor,” Terrina smiled approvingly at him.

“I look like a dink,” he muttered, but she caught him.

“A dink is a good thing on your world, yes?” She looked so earnest and really, it was good craftsmanship, if utterly ridiculous, that he couldn't tell her the truth and merely nodded in response.

She led him down a very long corridor and when they finally stepped out into the bright light of mid-afternoon, it was to an entirely different part of the city. 

It rose up like the Roman Forum. The area was all columns and Pantheon-shaped buildings with a few Acropolis-structured buildings in between. And on top the hill was a gleaming temple held up by carved statues as tall as the temple itself.

“That is the Temple of Scholars,” Terrina whispered, as though he couldn't have guessed.

He adjusted his pack and gun, wishing he could pull out his energy reader. He'd bet anything that although it didn't look Ancient, there had to be _something_ interesting up there.

But then he was distracted by another sight. From the building adjacent to his, Ronon, Teyla, and Sheppard exited together, and his breath was taken away; not something he was often prone to. 

Teyla had never looked more beautiful than right then, wearing a lilac colored toga that set off the golden brown of her skin. Her hair was piled high on her head, all in tight curls. Around it sat a thin wreath decorated with tiny purple buds. Her toga was bound beneath her breasts (which were looking exceptionally full) and fell to the ground from there.

Ronon was in the dreaded almost-pink shade, but on him it looked far from girly; especially considering the glare he was casting about, daring anyone to think such thoughts. It screamed 'real men wear pink' if anything ever had. His toga was tied to the side and kept shorter than everyone else's, presumably to allow for movement, but really, just giving Rodney a nice look at very muscular legs (which he kept at a very short look or Ronon would _kill_ him). His dreads were tied half back, his shoes laced to his knees. 

Sheppard, though, was the true masterpiece. His toga was cream with a pink sash crossing his chest. It fell to his knees where it met the straps of his sandals. Apparently, they hadn't known quite what to do with him, being both a 'warrior' and a leader. But his hair was surrounded by a wreath that had red berries and thin leaves decorating it. In any other setting, Rodney might have laughed (despite his own ensemble), but in spite of Sheppard's uncomfortable stance and tight grip on the P-90 he'd wrapped over his toga, he fit right in. It didn't help that some of whatever Delas had been wearing (and that Rodney had refused to have put on him, because, ew) was now glistening over developed biceps. And the chest hair...

Rodney felt a tug low in his gut that he refused to acknowledge despite the rather stunning image Sheppard portrayed and tried not to blush when the other man caught him looking. Because he wasn't _looking_. Just, professional curiosity. And fodder for black mail at some indeterminate future date.

Ronon grunted when he saw Rodney. “It suits you.” Rodney glared, but Ronon bared his teeth in response and he gave up.

“You look well,” Teyla said, laying a gentle hand on his arm. 

This time he flushed. After all, he didn't get a compliment like that from just anyone normally. “You look very lovely, yourself,” he replied, and she smiled at him.

Sheppard muttered, “We look like idiots.”

“Actually, I'm wishing I'd brought a camera; that pink sash just really compliments your eyes,” joked Rodney, smirking.

Something must have shone through though, because Sheppard blinked at him slowly before a funny gleam settled in his eyes. “Sure thing, McKay,” he drawled, and if Rodney hadn't clearly been hallucinating, he'd have sworn the colonel cocked his hip out.

Terrina clapped and exclaimed over them. “Oh, you all look marvelous! Satina will lead you to the banquet hall. I assure you, Colonel Sheppard, you won't need your gun. We have no need for violence, here, save for the Wraith.”

He nodded, but his face was closed, and his grip didn't relax.

Satina, a slip of a girl, so small it looked like the light breeze would knock her over, quickly led them into another building across the square. Before making it all the way over, Sheppard stopped to admire the statue in the center. Rodney let Teyla and Ronon keep going while he dropped back.

Sheppard's gaze went hooded as soon as he saw Rodney approach, so he stopped on the other side and examined the statue himself.

Made out of some kind of white rock, it featured a man wearing his toga styled as Rodney's was, holding a book and wearing, of all things, glasses. At his feet were three men dressed in short togas but with wreaths on their heads, gazing up adoringly. One was prostrate across the Scholar's feet, one had his hand on the Scholar's toga by his feet, and the third was actually on his knees behind the standing man, hands possessively clutching at the Scholar's thighs. A very strange, yet erotic bit of art.

“Don't let it go to your head, McKay,” Sheppard said, practically into his ear and pitched low, causing Rodney to jump. “You aren't going to have adoring fans falling at _your_ feet.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Colonel, for that wonderful revelation. And if you're done admiring the scenery, perhaps we could go eat now? Teyla's stomach isn't the only one grumbling at this point,” he snapped, trying to recover his composure. 

Sheppard tilted his head and smiled Mona Lisa-like, walking backwards away from him, before turning around to jog and catch up with the other team members.

Shaking his head, Rodney followed, trying to disregard the sudden sense that something deeper was going on with his team leader, and with this place.

Dinner truly was a feast; plates of cheeses, fruits, light meats, and various hot and cold pastries covered the table as well as silver goblets filled with more of the wine they had been drinking earlier. Rodney made Sheppard taste anything that looked suspicious for citrus and fortunately only had to pass on three of the many fruits and found, to his delight, something that tasted exactly like a ground cherry, causing him to stifle a moan the flavor incurred. At one point, he caught Delas looking at him and Sheppard's interaction closely and he turned red for about the fifth time that day, but it wasn't his fault if someone read something into it. He had someone do this for him at every backwater planet's feasts. Sheppard was simply closest to him this time.

They were seated with a few Senators and high-end aides like Delas. There was an assistant of a Scholar seated with them, identifiable because of the short white toga and leafy wreath, who sat quietly the whole time taking everything in, and especially scrutinizing the team's interaction. When Rodney nudged Sheppard, he'd merely shrugged and said, “We'd do it, too, McKay.” And he had a point. They were introduced as 'Ronon the Warrior,' 'Teyla the Diplomat' (which explained the purple, Rodney guessed), ‘Lt. Colonel Sheppard, the Warrior Leader,' and finally, 'Dr. McKay the Scholar'. Although their clothes obviously distinguished them for their roles according to this society, the assistant had turned to Rodney with a lewd stare up and down his body, which finally settled about crotch level and his eyes lit up.

Sheppard, of course, noticed, growling in the back of his throat. Rodney didn't know whether to take it as a stay-away-from-my-scientist thing or something else that had been nagging him in the back of his mind all day. Either way, he milked it for all it was worth by smirking and whispering to the colonel, “Guess I might get those fans after all,” to which Sheppard had bitten something back about not being wanted for his brains. Which, in Rodney's case, it didn't really matter. Sometimes, it was nice to be wanted for something beyond his genius. Even if it was by some scribe almost twenty years younger than him.

At dinner's end, Delas stood up. “Kind friends and peaceful travelers. Tomorrow, we begin negotiations for a new trade agreement. I have faith that both sides will have something of value to offer the other. And so, we wish to bid you goodnight early, so that you may relax and enjoy yourselves in our humble city. We begin each morning with a bath that I hope you will join us for. Satina shall see to your personal needs while you are here and will now show you to your rooms. She will also knock in the morning to wake you. Have a good evening.”

With a clap of his hands, not unlike Terrina's, people began chatting in small groups and leaving the room. Rodney watched as the assistant shot a smoldering stare back at Rodney before slipping out a side door. He was probably barely legal back on Earth, and Rodney didn't usually like young guys, but there was just something in his stare and adoration that hit a spot inside him.

They followed Satina back to yet another building, this one opened with gleaming light brown doors into a corridor that split in several places into rooms.

“I am afraid you will have to sleep two to a room. I hope this causes no problems. It is merely how our rooms are set up. Separate beds, I assure you.”

“That will be fine, Satina,” Teyla responded.

“Teyla, Doctor McKay, if you will just go down this corridor, you will find--”

“Ah, no,” interjected Sheppard. “I'm _afraid_ , McKay will be staying with me. We'll take the first room. Ronon and Teyla can share the other.” 

The girl nodded, but it was obvious her eyes were considering Sheppard. It was becoming almost creepy how much they kept staring at him.

Once they got into the room, Rodney dropped his stuff onto one of the beds which was gratefully bigger than Atlantis' and almost looked comfortable. “What's got your manly underwear in a knot, Colonel?”

Sheppard didn't answer him right away, sitting down on the other bed in a huff and scrambling to undo the leather straps. “Oh, for the love of--” he cut off, clearly agitated.

“Hello? McKay calling Sheppard! What are you so damn pissy about? You've been like this ever since we got to the city, I’d thought you'd be happy. The idealistic Roman society down to the food, good weather and scantily clad girls. I'd have thought this would have been your paradise. Just needs an Ascended woman for you to Kirk over. Or do you have a problem because for once someone is more interested in what I have to offer than your stupid guns and machoism?” He'd worked himself up now and started pacing the room, annoyed.

“What I have a problem with, _Rodney_ , is the way they keep looking at you! It's like they haven't eaten in weeks and they're going to chow down on your ample assets.”

“Ample assets?” Rodney asked, mockingly. “I don't know whether to punch you for calling me fat or mock you mercilessly for sounding like a nineteenth century English poet.”

Sheppard shook his head roughly. “I don't like it. It's not...normal! It's creepy and it's getting on my nerves.”

“Well, I am so sorry if some male staring at me offends your homophobic militaristic mindset or whatever the hell your deal is. But it doesn't bother me and you can take your issues and shove them up your ass, _Colonel_ ,” he ended, with as much disdain as possible, before sitting down hard on the bed and quickly shucking his shoes, climbing under the light sheet and turning his back to Sheppard.

A minute later he heard a quiet, resigned, “McKay...” but he refused to acknowledge it and eventually he heard the other man shuffle around and finally climb under the bed cover.

He didn't think either of them slept much that night.

In fact, by the time there was a sharp knock at the door, he was pretty sure he'd only gotten a few hours, despite the comfort of the bed. His mind had been spinning with possibilities. Why was Sheppard acting so damn weird? Would he sleep with the assistant if given the chance? What would it take to get into the Temple? 

But he dutifully got up with the knock and Satina walked in carrying two robes and some kind of other garment, laying them down on a nightstand.

“I will be back momentarily to bring you to the baths.” 

She exited with a bow.

“Baths,” Rodney muttered. “It's like we're fucking stuck in an episode of _Rome_.”

Sheppard snorted at that from across the room and Rodney looked over cautiously. Apparently, he'd gotten over whatever it was because he didn't flinch when Rodney looked at him.

“As long as you don't invite any duels to the death, I suppose it's not too bad.”

“Aw, McKay, you care.”

Rolling his eyes, Rodney snatched the robe and other thing from the table and snapped, “Turn around.”

After Sheppard grabbed his own robe and complied, Rodney turned his back and figured out the other thing was actually some weird loin cloth-cum-swim trunks. Pulling them and the robe on in record time, he turned back in time to catch a flash of slightly less tanned flesh as Sheppard pulled the shorts on after shucking his other clothing.

Returning his gaze back to the wall, Rodney closed his eyes and focused on breathing. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He'd learned to control it. He had to. Sheppard was definitely straight and even if he wasn't, he'd made it clear that though they were friends, Sheppard didn't think too much of Rodney beyond his ability to save their collective asses. He was in his late thirties and by no means did that allow him the midlife crisis of having a crush on a straight guy. He knew how well that turned out. Besides, he had Katie back on Atlantis. As his sister had so kindly pointed out, he was no John Sheppard and he wouldn't find someone much better than Katie (well, besides Carter, but he'd given up on that).

It was all so stupid and, in that moment, the only thing he wanted to do was get as far away from Semenla as possible. Back to Earth would be nice. Maybe he should take some leave time once he got back. Not that he was sure Jeannie would appreciate him coming back so soon. Or that he'd want to go back, still feeling the guilt after her kidnapping. Yup. He was just screwed all around.

“McKay,” came Sheppard's drawl and Rodney had to turn around lest Sheppard made a snide comment, or worse, come over to see what was wrong.

Fortunately, Satina appeared to have impeccable timing and knocked right then, opening the door. “Are you ready?”

“Yup,” the colonel said and together they walked out, slipping their feet into thongs Satina provided, meeting Teyla and Ronon in the hallway.

They made it to the bath house where Satina informed them that Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon would be meeting with Delas and other dignitaries, while Rodney was to have his bath with the other Scholars.

So caught up with the fact that he was going to meet these Scholars finally, he didn't notice at first that Sheppard was raising a stink.

“--No, I'm sorry, we don't split up like that. Someone's got to go with him. Preferably me.”

“I'm sorry, Colonel. Only Scholars and their assistants are allowed in the Scholar baths.”

“Why can't he join us, then?” Sheppard pressed.

For the first time, someone showed an emotion besides general pleasantness or curiosity. Satina looked aghast at the very suggestion. “No, Colonel! Scholars do not bathe with those lower than themselves. It is just not done.”

“Yeah, well, where we come from, people don't take public baths. A matter of perspective.”

“Oh, my God, Colonel, I’m sure I'll be fine. It's going to be a bunch of naked geeks. Where are they going to hide their knives they'll magically be ninjas at using, hmm? It's just a bath.”

“I don't know, McKay,” spoke up Ronon. “Probably not a good idea. Even if they are friendly.”

Rodney sniffed. “Well, clearly we're going to have to come to some compromise. You're the one telling me to behave all the time, Colonel. Don't offend the natives, you say. And for once, okay, you do it a lot actually, but anyway, it's you causing the fuss. It's a shower; I can take care of myself.”

Sheppard glared at him then turned to Satina. “You want this to happen, fine. Since he can't bathe with the rest of us, we either won't, or you'll let me go in as his assistant. I don't think Delas will like it if we don't show, so it's up to you.”

“You don't know what you're suggesting, Colonel Sheppard--” Satina started, but was cut off.

“I don't care. Pick one.”

She pondered, lips drawn tight, but after glancing between the two of them, she relaxed her shoulders. “As you wish, Colonel. Please, I shall lead you to the Scholar baths. Teyla, Ronon, this hallway will take you to Delas. Should you need anything, I will return soon.”

They parted ways and Rodney tried not to blow up at Sheppard again in front of their hosts. What the hell had crawled up his ass and died? Apparently, Kirk wasn't working it too hard right now. Sheppard obviously needed to get laid, loosen up. He was looking as military as Lorne did. Gone was the slouch, the sway of the hips, replaced by a stance usually saved for the president. (Not that Rodney often watched Sheppard's hips.)

Satina led them down a hallway that opened into a large room. Without even glancing in, she did that weird bow and left.

Sheppard shrugged before putting on his devil-may-care grin and walking in. A boy of about ten stopped him with a quick touch to the wrist before he got far. The boy, keeping his head down, took Sheppard's robe, then scurried away.

“Umm, what about mine?” Rodney asked, disgruntled. Then he noticed on the other side of the room, the same scene happening, but once the young child stepped aside, the man whose robe was off, removed the elder man's robes for him, folding them and giving them to the boy.

“Uh, assistant...I think you're meant to disrobe me,” Rodney snickered.

Looking mildly annoyed, Sheppard did as told. 

“Hey, it's not my fault. You volunteered.”

“I'm trying to protect you, genius. We don't split up and you know that. If this was the only way, so be it.”

Moving forward, Rodney was met by a jovial man around twenty years his senior and much pudgier around the middle. Truth be told, he looked like Santa Claus. “You must be the foreign Scholar. Welcome! I am Brutus, Scholar of Language. Come, join me!”

Rodney nodded his thanks and followed Brutus ( _et tu_ , he thought to himself) to the edge of one of the baths. The sound of water splashing into the pools surrounded them and a gentle steam was rising from the surface of the slightly blue water.

“Don't worry, it's not dyes. Something to do with the heat, softeners, and the source of the springs. You'd have to ask a water Scholar about that, my friend.”

Brutus slid into the water and gestured that Rodney should do the same. Sliding in, the water was that temperature which registered as just too hot for a minute before becoming luxurious. The water exuded a scent not unlike the Aqua Velva Rodney always teased Sheppard about wearing. He let out a sigh of relief as he slid in the rest of the way.

Noting Sheppard still standing on the side, rigid posture, Rodney glanced around. What he noticed was men anywhere from mid-thirties to almost decrepit speaking with one another in excited tones, some arguing amicably, others laughing, some appeared to be in deep philosophical discussions. And around each one of these speaking men was anywhere from one to five younger men, fawning over and fondling them. All men. Touching.

Rodney looked up at Sheppard's face which was carefully blank, but he could read the tension lines around his eyes and the downturn of his mouth. Sheppard was very uncomfortable.

“Invite your assistant in! He should enjoy the water, too.”

To be honest, getting in was probably the last thing Sheppard wanted, but he'd signed up for the job.

“Colonel,” he hissed. Sheppard glared reproachfully before sliding in.

“Your assistant...he's rather old, isn't he?” Brutus leaned over to whisper, beard tickling Rodney's ear.

“I, umm...” Rodney struggled to think fast, feeling Sheppard's eyes on him. “He's been around a long time. He knows how to get the job done, so to say.”

Brutus leaned back and let out a loud laugh, startling everyone else in the pool who all turned their attention to him. And Rodney by proxy.

Wiping at tears, Brutus punched Rodney in the shoulder and said, “I bet he does! And that's all that really matters, isn't it? Friends!” He turned to the other Scholars in the pool. “Meet...” he trailed off.

“Doctor Rodney McKay,” Rodney supplied.

“Meet Rodney. He and his team are here to make trade negotiations. And hopefully, we'll be able to convince him to come up to the Temple and offer his no doubt sage advice on whatever his profession may be. What is your expertise, Rodney?” the man asked. 

“Well, I do a lot, actually. My degrees are in mechanical engineering and astrophysics, but I'm also an expert on the Stargate and Ancient technology. Er, the Ancestor's technology.”

“Brilliant, brilliant! You'll have to meet Archmes, then. He's one of our technology Scholars. Oh, and Camille. He's our Scholar of the Stars. I'm sure you'll have much in common. Now, let me introduce you. First, this handsome devil is Kelarus, Scholar of Ancient Writings. His assistants are Tem, Rict, and Samuel. Then we have Halam, Scholar of Trees. And his assistants, Haku, Retah, Felar, and Belarus...”

It went on, introducing ten Scholars and their various assistants. The assistants never said anything, merely eyed Rodney the same way the one at yesterday's dinner had, then turned back to their own Scholars; all the while, stroking and pressing kisses onto the men's cheeks and jaws. Each one only had a first name given and Rodney wasn't sure what the actual point of them was. Were they a kind of pleasure slave? Did they act as servants? He couldn't help but notice, all the Scholars and their assistants were men. The society was obviously sexist as well as classist. He had noticed one woman Senator walking around yesterday, but who knew how common that was?

Finally, one of the men (Rodney had already forgotten just about everyone's name) asked, “Who is your assistant? Why does he stay to himself so much? Rough night?”

A cackle rose from the group and Rodney found himself blushing yet again. Fortunately, the heat of the water had already made him flushed, so he thought Sheppard didn't notice his reaction.

“This is...John. And he's just...shy. Where we're from, people don't show affection in public much.”

“Then, please, enjoy while you are here! That must be terribly constricting.”

Rodney nodded, hoping he didn't look constipated as he tried not to grimace.

“Terribly constricting,” came Sheppard's deep voice, and all eyes snapped to him.

“Sheppard,” Rodney tried to growl quietly. It was obvious that the assistants weren't meant to speak, at least not in the baths.

“Oh, Doctor McKay, since I have _permission_ in this place, you must allow me.” Suddenly, one of Sheppard's very hairy, very manly arms was draped across his chest to grab his opposite shoulder and Sheppard was doing a damn good impression of the other fawning assistants.

“I, um, er...please, heh, forgive John. At home, we speak a great deal. While we aren't open in the physical sense, our society is very open verbally,” Rodney said, hoping that would cover them both.

All the men nodded and even the assistants looked on approvingly. 

“That is why we keep them. They keep our minds young,” chimed in one of the Scholar's across from him.

“And our bodies,” laughed the guy next to Brutus—Kelarus?

Just then, Sheppard's hand found one of Rodney's nipples and flicked it. He bit back a surprised grunt but didn't contain the shudder it caused. From the corner of his eye, he could see a mixture of smugness and confusion on Sheppard's face.

They had to get out of there fast. He couldn't handle any more time in the hot water (which clearly had something added to provoke his senses or he wouldn't react so vehemently), watching both old and young handsome men be felt up in a pornographic manner, _and_ have Sheppard pretending he found Rodney attractive. It was too much. If he didn't leave now, in about a minute he'd have a very obvious erection and while maybe the others wouldn't mind, no way could he let the colonel see that.

“You'll have to excuse me. I'm afraid my team needs to begin negotiations soon.”

His intent of leave was met with a chorus of groans.

“Let the man breathe,” Brutus spoke up, and Rodney couldn't have been more grateful to the older man. “You will all get to bother him when he visits us at the Temple today, right, Rodney?”

Smiling and nodding, Rodney struggled to get out of the bath gracefully, followed closely by Sheppard who stepped forward to grab their robes from the same kid who'd taken them. He held it out for Rodney with an unreadable expression and he quickly slid his arms into it, wrapping it around himself. The boy put Sheppard's robes on for him and they slid into the bath shoes.

About to leave, Brutus called after them. “I shall meet you after the midday meal, Rodney. And then we will tour the Temple!”

Rodney waved and then jumped when he felt a large hand slide down and grab his ass. Squawking, he turned to face the culprit, only to catch Sheppard mid wink at the group, who all laughed. Then he gently pushed Rodney from the room.

Spluttering the whole way out, Rodney didn't manage anything coherent until they made it to the safety of their room.

“You-I, you...what the hell was that for?” he yelled.

“Just playing their game, McKay.”

“You can't just do that to a person!”

“I don't know, McKay,” Sheppard said in that lazy, dangerous tone, “You seemed to enjoy it.”

He stared pointedly at Rodney's crotch where the robe come undone, showing he was half hard in the clinging weird swim trunks.

Spluttering some more, Rodney tried to get across that it wasn't Sheppard, it was just the nice water, any normal man would get hard in such a bath, but the dark-haired man just stared, eyes blank and mocking while cocking a hip out. (Deliberate, definitely.) Then he started to strip right out in the open, staring at Rodney the whole time.

He quickly turned away as Sheppard said, “Whatever makes you feel better.”

“Just put some God damned clothes on, will you?” Rodney said, trying to cover, knowing he wasn't succeeding in Sheppard's view.

Satina or someone had laid out fresh clothes (good since Rodney had slept in his) that were exactly alike in cut and color but had slightly different trim on it. Sheppard's however, once he got it on, was that of an assistant's: short, white and no man should be allowed to have such nice-looking thighs. They both had different wreaths.

When they were almost ready (Rodney couldn't keep his wreath from stabbing him in the eye until Sheppard came over and adjusted it, trailing a hand down his back as he walked away), there was a knock at the door and their other teammates walked in.

“Ready?” asked Ronon gruffly. “Let's get these talks over and get out of here. This planet’s weird.”

“I agree,” said Rodney in a rush. Maybe if they got off this fucking world, Sheppard would stop touching him, stop doing it just to be an _asshole_. Because that's what he was doing, and it was one thing to be straight and one thing to mock a friend on his looks...and another entirely to be such a fucking _tease_. It wasn't nice and it wasn't right. As though he wasn't embarrassed enough.

Negotiations went smoothly, Atlantis trading rudimentary mechanical tools and basic Ancient knowledge (on agriculture applications, mostly) for baskets of fruit, several blocks of cheese, and cloth, as per Rodney's request (and the colonel had given him quite a look on that one, Rodney could practically hear the gay jokes that would happen once they got home). It was dull and a relief at the same time because here they could act normally, banter a bit. Rodney could insult things and Teyla would apologize, while Ronon just grunted or pitched in the occasional demand that things were falling from a fair trade. Most importantly, _no touching_.

By lunchtime, most of the deals were made and Teyla was simply going to clear a few specifics that afternoon while Rodney and Sheppard checked out the Temple. They were hoping to find some useful, hidden information on Ancient technology or locations of ZPMs. 

After lunch, in which Sheppard made sure to sit close again (and under watchful eyes, slide a hand up and over Rodney's inner thigh) and confirm the lack of citrus, Brutus was true to his word and showed up to usher them to the Temple.

Walking up the hill wore Rodney out and by the top he was panting hard, glaring at the back of Brutus' head because for a man nearly sixty and twice Rodney's size, he apparently had the breath support of John Sheppard.

Reaching the top though, he was finally able to see the actual statues that held up the Temple. Each one featured a man standing, obviously a Scholar, holding a book, charts, a plant, or something in their hands. At each man's feet was one adoring assistant.

Those, however, weren't the statues that caught his eye. Just inside the front was a courtyard was a garden of statues, each one in a more compromising position than the last. Carved from white stone, the attention to anatomy was as precise as the impossibility of half the positions were. All men, all engaged in some sexual act from deep throating to spanking, to frottage to Karma Sutra-like orgies. It was the kind of thing you expected to only see allusions to in Greek philosophy.

It was both disturbing and a complete turn on.

Dying to know, and uncomfortable with the gaze Sheppard kept swinging between him and the statues, Rodney asked, “How do you guys get your work done with...” he waved a hand, “these right here?”

Brutus laughed. “Partly, we do not actually work in the courtyard. It is for breaks, lunch, to be admired in one's own time. Partly, we get our own pleasures at home. And partly, we have grown used to it. It is not so much a display, as symbols of who we are. Our stature.”

Rodney found that interesting. He supposed, the same way walking through a museum with Greek and Roman deities in various stages of undress didn't get him excited, with the right mindset, these wouldn't either. 

But it was hard to think of them like that with Sheppard breathing down his neck.

“Is it just a guy thing?” Sheppard asked out of nowhere. “I mean, I've noticed no women Scholars, no women assistants...”

Rodney was horrified by the question (despite being curious himself) and took a breath to berate some sense into the man when Brutus chuckled. He certainly did that a lot.

“To start, all Scholars are men. As to the reasons, that I cannot explain. At least not to your liking. I suspect you have women in charge where you come from, yes? On Semenla, we have women in power, to be sure, but to be a Scholar, it is the highest honor. Women may rule the country; they are good at managing things. But leave the pursuit of pure knowledge strictly for men. Oft times, women don't even wish to be Scholars, preferring to actually work and correct the things they believe need correcting, then to recline on a mountain all day. As for the assistants, it too is part of our tradition. Many of the assistants are Scholars-in-training, while the rest wish to be near power. Assistants live comfortable lives with little to do but please someone. Even that is not daily when the Scholar has more than one. They also facilitate our research. They bring the heavy items for the elderly, help those with fading minds to capture down what they have left. They transcribe and catalog.

“We find men understand the Scholar's needs. Be it because they are young and...lustful, or because they understand single-minded focus, they provide both a distraction and a helping hand to the Scholar. Many of our Scholars have wives at home. Some prefer men and may have husbands. Though rare, there are a few Scholars who have assistants but do not use them in such ways as the statues represent. Those are also the Scholars you won't find in the baths or at _pinocel_ nights. Their significant others tend to like them at home.”

When Brutus had finished, Sheppard nodded as though he understood or agreed. Seemingly satisfied, he allowed Brutus to lead the way, but kept ahead of Rodney. That afternoon they spoke with many Scholars, visited many rooms of the Temple. Brutus kept them from the assistant quarters, and Sheppard steered them well clear of the Sacrifice Room (which Rodney didn't altogether mind).

In time for the evening Scholar feast, which they were exclusively invited to, they prepared to leave, pausing in the courtyard as Rodney wanted to solidify a list of some of the books he was requesting to have transcribed to him along with the other trade items. He noted Sheppard talking with one of the assistants who had been in the baths with them earlier, standing around one of the more flexible statue designs, but by the time Rodney was done, Sheppard had walked back, lips pressed tightly.

“What's wrong?” he asked, concerned.

“Nothing,” Sheppard responded tersely.

Shrugging it off as yet another thing in the continuing weird Sheppard saga, Rodney started down the hill.

The rest of the evening proved uneventful, with a check-in to Carter saying they'd be returning in approximately twelve hours.

They prepared for bed, Rodney firmly keeping his back to Sheppard the whole time, but he couldn't help his curiosity. “What did that guy say to you? You were looking pretty upset for your usual laid-back attitude. Or is it just blue balls because we haven't met an alien priestess, only alien priests?”

“McKay--” Sheppard bit off whatever he was going to say, sighing instead. “The guy, Samuel, I think. He wanted to know if I'd ever tried that position before. I'd said no. Then he wanted to know what I had done. Basically, he was surprised I hadn't had anal and I was pissed that he felt he needed to know that about me.”

Rodney turned around and shrugged sympathetically, embarrassed, even surprised that Sheppard would tell him that bit of information. “Sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into this. We just...have to accept their culture is a little different. Considering you didn't partake, I highly doubt you have to worry about DADT.”

Smiling tightly, Sheppard shook his head. “That's not it. It's just...well, weird, number one. And two, I didn't like the look he gave us as we walked away. Samuel, I mean. Didn't like it at all...”

And then he crawled under the covers and seemed to fall asleep.

Rodney sighed. While even he felt the statues and the rigid class structure was overdoing it, he couldn't understand what was causing Sheppard's unease. Either it was a homophobic military thing, Sheppard was worried about gay cooties, or even Ronon had missed something because no one but Sheppard felt uncomfortable.

He fell asleep trying not to picture Sheppard gleaming from the blue bath water, smelling good and actually wanting to touch Rodney, rather than doing it as a pretense...

The next morning, he rolled over to see Sheppard's bed was an empty mess.

Maybe the guy'd had a nightmare and gone for a walk. He didn't like to admit it, but after literally walking in them, Rodney knew Sheppard had nightmares. Half the time, he wondered if some connection had been formed that day, because he no longer dreamed of any whale but Sam, and sometimes, he had new nightmares filling its place—someone on the team was dying, or there'd be a mysterious Iratus bug creeping along the edge of consciousness.

He got dressed swiftly and wandered over to Ronon and Teyla's room.

“Either of you seen the colonel?” he asked when Teyla opened the door.

“We have not. He was not in the room?”

“No.”

“Probably went for a walk,” chipped in Ronon.

“That's what I figure. Well, we've got about two hours before we go back loaded up with supplies. How about we find him?”

Making it outside, Sheppard wasn't in the immediate area. The three of them enjoyed a light breakfast and even took a gander by the baths, but he was nowhere to be found.

“I don't like it,” grumbled Ronon, fingering his side belt where a wicked-looking knife rested, and Rodney was beginning to think something was up, too.

Finally, Rodney spotted Satina. “Satina!” She walked over, looking down at her feet. “Have you seen Colonel Sheppard this morning?”

She looked up and tears sparkled in her eyes. “I am so sorry. I did try to warn him...they have taken him to the Temple.”

“They? Why? What for?” Rodney couldn't help the panic that gripped his body, then, a cold rush to his stomach that made him want to throw up. 

“He has walked in the Temple and he is not an assistant. He is not holy, walking on holy ground. Thus, he must become one. I am sorry.”

And just like that, she rushed off.

“I do not like the sound of that,” Teyla said.

“No, that's not good at all. I can't be sure, but I think I know what she means, and it is definitely _not_ good,” Rodney said, resolve to find Sheppard fighting with the anxiety of what he expected. “Here's what we're going to do...”

By the time he made it up the hill, he was panting once more, but this time, he didn't bother to complain. Sheppard was in trouble and while it really was all his own fault, Rodney couldn't help feeling partially responsible.

“Psst!” he heard coming from behind a column. He glanced up to see Brutus with the first serious expression on his face since they'd met. He hurried over.

“Your friend, I am sorry. He has been taken into the Sacrifice room-” and oh, God, that couldn't be good, thought Rodney, “-and he is to be initiated in the rite of passage. We must hurry.”

“What?” Rodney managed to get out as Brutus tugged him down a hall into the Temple.

“Samuel found out that John has not had...male sexual intercourse,” Brutus said, looking uncomfortable. “It is forbidden to enter this Temple masquerading as an assistant without having been initiated at least once. I tried to explain to the Council this morning, when I saw him there, that you have different customs on your own world and we might not like them all same as you would not ours, but they refused to listen. By now, they probably have him ready.”

“Ready for what?” Rodney snapped, afraid he knew the answer.

“If one is not an assistant, one must be made so, or it ruins the sanctity of the Temple. Our traditions are what continue our civilization in the face of the Wraith. Lose them and we may lose ourselves. Most of the time, it harms no one as one does not come to the Temple without knowing what is expected.”

“So, you're saying...”

“Yes. Unless you get there soon, they will take him by force, as I suspect he will not happily comply. I do not agree, but we must follow the law in the face of the Council's decision.”

“Your Council is stupid and apparently made up of morons rather than Scholars,” Rodney said, biting the words out.

Brutus had the decency to look chagrined at least, but still continued to push Rodney along corridors until they came to the set of large marble-like doors Sheppard had refused to go into the day before. Apparently, he'd been wise to do so and now it was all coming back to bite Rodney in the ass.

They opened the doors to a circular shaped room. On the back side was a high shelf that looked down on the room, where several men were seated, wearing white robes. What drew the eyes though, were the two large statues that filled the room. And what sat between. Each of the statues were Scholars, dressed in robes matching those who sat on the bench. One held a system of weights like a perverted version of Justice, while the other held a book high in the air. Each of the inside arms were slanted down toward the middle of the room.

And shackled to them was Sheppard. A very naked Sheppard.

He had a chain secured to each wrist and one on each ankle. His arms hung slightly raised in the air and he was kneeling. They'd given him some kind of padding to rest his knees, and there was a little give in the chains, but unless he suddenly turned into the Hulk, he wasn't getting free. His head had snapped up the moment Rodney and Brutus had walked into the room and was as furious as Rodney had ever seen him. His eyes sparked, and he growled, reminding Rodney of a large cat stuck in a cage at the zoo.

His naked body glistened from the same oil Delas and the others had worn yesterday. His chest was broad, the muscles in his biceps flexing as he tested at his bonds. Thigh muscles quivered, from holding the awkward position no doubt, and his cock...

Rodney quickly drew his eyes up and above Sheppard's head, knowing there was no way the colonel hadn't seen him look, but when the main focus of the room was a naked man (that Rodney already found attractive), it was hard _not_ to look. 

“Ah, the Scholar has arrived,” echoed a booming voice from the bench. “We shall then read the charges and continue with the ceremony.”

“McKay, get me the fuck out of here,” hissed Sheppard's voice, anger-laced and ridden with a panic Rodney had never heard before. It hit him in the gut worse than Sheppard's despair had that day he'd thought Kolya had killed Weir.

Rodney merely nodded and tried not to faint.

“Foreign Scholar, you have walked in our hallowed Temple of Scholars and brought with you what we assumed was an assistant. You led us to believe this was so, only for us to discover that he had never been initiated as such. We understand you are a foreigner, but you are also a man of knowledge and should have asked to discover if we had not explained it clear enough for you. We do not punish Scholars directly. However, your man has walked on this holy ground and as he is not holy, he must be made so. We suspect that this will be sufficient punishment for you both.”

Another voice from the judgment table intoned, “We thereby decree that the one know as John is to become an assistant. It will happen here on this day, within this hour.”

“Don't we get a say?” shouted Rodney at the same time Sheppard yelled.

“Don't I get to plead my case?”

The men looked down at them, now foreboding rather than the flirtatious men of the baths.

“Do you deny what we have said?”

“Well, no, I mean...but--!” Rodney tried and was knocked right down.

“Then the Council has made its decision. However, we will offer this. No matter, he must become an assistant. Normally, we would require that he become of our Scholar's assistants, destined to stay with that man here. However, given your foreign nature, we will allow him to actually become your assistant as you led us to believe. So, either you, or one of them,” the man speaking gestured to a group of five Scholars who were standing to the side, half naked, and staring with greedy looks in their eyes, “shall take him.”

Rodney looked in desperation at Brutus who shrugged apologetically. It seemed there wasn't anything else he could do.

“What about the fact that some of you have wives?” Sheppard yelled. “We were told not all assistants had to pleasure their Scholars!”

He was straining at his binds, tossing his head back and forth, a manic gleam in his eye.

“This is true. But all assistants are inducted. Else they could not walk these grounds. I am sorry.”

“Yeah, you sound real sorry, you son of a _bitch_!”

Rodney couldn't imagine how he was feeling, tied up for all to see, and being threatened with rape. His nostrils were flaring, and his cock dangled, flaccid. In a perverse way, he looked like a magnificent creature. All of his muscles contracting and flexing, his dark chest hair that held a few gray hairs visible even from where Rodney stood. Slinky hips and powerful thighs. For the first time, Rodney noticed that Sheppard wasn't perfect, he had no six pack, instead just that slight curve fitting for a man in mid-forties. And that imperfection made him all the more beautiful in Rodney's eyes.

The main judge or Council member, whatever he was, gestured and the first of the Scholars stepped forward, taking the bowl of oil and moving to step behind Sheppard.

“Wait!” Rodney heard himself yelling out. He couldn't just let Sheppard be raped. Who knew what their medical practices were? Not to mention the trauma of the rape. And no way could Sheppard remain here serving as a foot servant and pleasure slave. Granted, Lorne could bust in here and make off with him on a rescue mission, but who knew what would happen in the meantime? He wished he hadn’t run off so fast that he left his communicator behind. Carter was going to berate him for that, for sure.

Not that there was time for Atlantis to arrive before they raped Sheppard. There was no way Ronon and Teyla could overpower everyone. They'd probably be stopped before even making it to Sheppard. And he certainly had no need of three “assistants”. Or wanted anyone else to deal with this.

He never regretted not having his P-90 with him more than now.

Sheppard had turned his head to look at him again, fear, revulsion, relief all flickering over his features before it slid into a staid mask. Keeping eye contact with Sheppard the whole time, Rodney said, “I will do it. He is my assistant and if you refuse to abate this loathsome charade, I will be the one to do it.”

The Council glanced between one another, and as a collective, turned to Rodney and nodded. “So be it.”

Rodney started to step forward as the other Scholar turned to give him the bowl, but Brutus stopped him. Glancing back, he understood.

He let Brutus undo his toga until he stood only in the white boxers. He was grateful for the heat of the planet then, but still horribly uncomfortable having his non-John Sheppard body exposed in front of so many clothed people. Especially in front of the colonel. He stepped forward to accept the bowl of lubricant and walked over to place it behind Sheppard.

The man flinched and refused to look up at him.

Gently grabbing Sheppard's jaw with a hand, he made the other man look at him. “You trust me, don't you?”

Sheppard's lips nearly vanished as they thinned to a small line. Whether it was consternation, or he was even angrier at what Rodney was doing than he would have been if he'd let one of the Scholars do it, he wasn't sure. But he gave the smallest nod and Rodney relaxed as much as was possible given the circumstances.

He let his fingers trail over Sheppard's face as he removed his hand, a feeling of both disgust and excitement coursing through him. And that made him even sicker. To know that some place inside him was happy because he would get to touch Sheppard despite the fact that he was raping him. It didn't make him any better than these Scholars, did it?

“Can we untie him? Can we do this with less people? I don't know how you expect me to keep it up with all of you watching. I wasn't lying when I said where I'm from we don't do public affection.” 

Maybe they could escape, if only the chains came off of Sheppard. Then the man wouldn't hate him for the rest of his life.

But it seemed it wasn't to be so. “He must remain chained. And there must be witnesses. This is how the initiation is done.”

“We couldn't have a few less witnesses?” he grumbled. There went his plan. It seemed it was inevitable. There was no scientific way of getting out of this, either. They hadn't brought any C4, and they were still out manned.

Despite the glorious and up-close view of a naked, glistening John in front of him, he wasn't at all hard. 

Two Scholars came forward and placed a cushy kind of mat behind Sheppard, presumably for Rodney's comfort as he fucked the military commander of Atlantis.

Just in case, he asked. “What _exactly_ does this initiation require?”

“The assistant to be initiated must be penetrated and one must come to completion.”

Oh, _great_. At least it didn't specify which. Because based on Sheppard's (very handsome even in this state) cock, he wasn't going to be coming any time soon.

“Alright, alright.”

He clamored down to his knees behind Sheppard whose whole body went rigid.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, because he truly was. Ugly part inside him that wanted Sheppard aside, he'd never, ever wanted something like this. Sure, he had the occasional fantasy of Sheppard tied up to his bed (preferably one back on Earth, big enough), but who didn't? Not unwillingly, though.

He didn't know where to start. It wasn't like there was a manual for this—What To Do When Aliens Make You Fuck—and knowing Sheppard was straight and a total virgin in this sense...he didn't want to just dive in, so to speak.

He leaned in, dipping his fingertips just barely into the oil, bringing them up and wrapping around Sheppard's chest to caress a nipple. The man's flinch away from the contact brought his ear close enough to Rodney's mouth.

“Has anyone ever...has a woman ever fingered you, Colonel?”

A terse shake of the head made Rodney sigh. It just couldn't be easy, could it? He slid his other hand up, flicking it over Sheppard's other nipple, massaging and playing. Sheppard fit right into his arms, and the heat he was radiating was phenomenal. Sighing again, he pressed his head into the junction of Sheppard's shoulder, placing one kiss there and taking in the smell of fear, sweat, oil, and underneath it all, Sheppard.

The other man flinched again and shrugged him away. “Don't try to make this something it's not,” he whispered, voice tight and flat.

That made Rodney angry because it wasn't like he wanted this to happen. It hadn't been some elaborate set up to fuck Sheppard. If only he'd let Rodney just go to the Scholar baths by himself, none of this would have happened. There would have been no assistant for Rodney and thus, no need for John to walk on the “holy ground” and get them into this mess. And despite his desire for Sheppard, they were still friends (or had been) and he'd never have risked that just to get to have sex. It wasn't that important—certainly not as important as their banter and the fact that Sheppard listened to him and appreciated the work he did.

And because of that, he decided Sheppard would be the one to come. Rodney might lack social graces, but he wasn't terrible in bed. He'd been with men before and he also knew that while pleasurable sex was about ninety percent the mind, one could still orgasm when their emotions weren't involved.

He dipped his fingers into the oil once more and began drawing random shapes on Sheppard's stomach, sliding his fingers through his chest hair. He began laying kisses along Sheppard's shoulders and upper back where he couldn't shake him off. He bit playfully, gently, and felt Sheppard slowly ease into the sensation. He still wasn't hard, but he was no longer as rigid as the statues supporting him.

That accomplished, Rodney let himself take in Sheppard's body. He slid a hand down the other man's torso, cupped his hip, slid it down one ass cheek, gripping at his thigh. He rubbed his chest against Sheppard's back, hoping the friction might bring himself to half-mast. Still sorely aware of all the prying eyes, he trailed a hand through the lube and wrapped his fist around the cock nestled between Sheppard's spread legs.

At the first touch, John let out a gasp and his entire body tightened again, struggling to get away. Rodney sidled up closer, pressing his whole body against Sheppard's back, trying to keep his dick to the side of his ass, to avoid scaring him.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Stop fighting. I can make this good. It doesn't have to hurt, at least.” He tried to keep his voice calm, soothing and lacking the sense of possessiveness he felt, holding that glorious body slick in his grasp.

Sheppard lowered his head and melted into Rodney's body, pliable and without emotion.

It hurt, somewhere deep, but at least it was progress. He didn't want to hurt Sheppard. His first time with a man had, but one of his few girlfriends hadn't minded at all, had enjoyed it even as he'd breached her for the first time. 

Using all the tricks he knew, he managed to bring Sheppard to half-mast along with him, teasing at his cock head, fisting him rapidly, then slowing down to stroke up and down its entire length, slipping his hand down to carefully fondle his balls.

Keeping his hand steadily moving in teasing motions and trying not to notice that Sheppard was staring straight ahead and not moving beyond the trembles in his thighs, Rodney kissed and made little licks as he went down the vast expanse of Sheppard's back. Faced with the only slightly less tanned, but surprisingly not as flat as it appeared ass in front of him, Rodney choked back a moan. If only under different circumstances...he'd take his time and by the end, Sheppard be begging for release, straight or not.

Instead, he dipped his fingers and teased the cleft, before sliding back up to tweak a nipple, then sliding down to gently caress that little curve of stomach, falling further to cradle his hip, rocking Sheppard back into him, and finally, ever so slowly sliding his middle finger over John's hole before pushing in, just the barest amount.

Sheppard let out a surprised yelp at that and tensed up to the point where anything they'd had going was immediately undone. The Scholars however, seemed to take it as a sign that he was enjoying himself as they broke out in a smattering of applause.

Embarrassed and struggling with a twisting, oily Sheppard, Rodney bit at his shoulder trying to get him to calm down. At that Sheppard growled and relaxed again, obviously finding comfort in the anger.

“That's it, come on, John, be angry. Whatever you need. I'm sorry, so sorry...” he babbled, struggling to maintain composure and not break down right there.

At that, John's head jerked, nearly smacking his tousled hair into Rodney's face and sliding his finger in more effectively and faster than Rodney had planned.

Gritting his teeth, Sheppard said, “Get your finger out of my ass and just fuck me, already. I want this over with!”

“I don't want to hurt—” Rodney tried to protest, but Sheppard simply pushed his ass back, taking his finger in all the way.

“I don't care anymore!”

“Fine, fine...”

He took his hand off the cock that had lost all hardness, shoving his boxers down and coated his dick with probably twenty times too much lube, and slicked up Sheppard, not going in, but at least making it as hopefully painless as possible. He pushed Sheppard's thighs as far apart as the chains would let him and guided his half hard cock up and in.

He'd barely even breached the other man (hard to do when he was still soft) when Sheppard grunted and a new sheen of sweat broke across his brown, dripping down his temples and appearing on the top of his shoulders. The gnashing of his teeth was clearly audible, at least to Rodney's ears.

He stopped but Sheppard ground out, “Don't! Keep going.”

Rodney obliged, wincing along with Sheppard's pain, but if this was how he wanted it, fine. He'd give him what he wanted.

By the time he was full encased, they were both breathing hard and then Sheppard shifted and, oh. He'd forgotten what a virgin ass felt like. How tight. How warm. How...

Suddenly, despite the prying eyes and Sheppard's reluctance, his dick no longer had anything to complain about and immediately hardened. There was a grunt of protest that meant Sheppard had felt it, could feel how full one could get.

Rodney squinted his eyes shut, trying to focus through the waves of pleasure shaking his body. He grabbed at Sheppard's hips, pulling him tighter, closer, unthinkingly palming his dick. By the time Rodney was ready to move, Sheppard had regained his chubbed state.

Spreading his own knees for better purchase, he began to move, just small shallow thrusts at first, continuously thumbing at Sheppard's nipples and pumping his cock, no more teasing. Apparently, that was what he needed as he became fully hard for the first time and his body shivered in Rodney's arms. Encouraged, he thrust deeper, adjusting his angle, praying to find that one spot.

Still a silent and unwilling participant, nonetheless, Sheppard was now clenching his fingers, making fists, then opening them back up and his panting grew worse. He kept rocking up and almost off the padded cushion his knees rested on and his eyes were closed. If Rodney hadn't been able to feel the tension radiating from him, felt the horror in the air so thick he could almost taste it, he might have thought Sheppard was into it. Instead, he knew Sheppard was merely riding it out and no doubt disgusted that his body was responding.

Rodney couldn't help it, when John shifted and clenched at the same time, he came first, with a gasping, “John.” Not the best orgasm of his life, but not the worst. It laced through him hot and bright, and tinged with regret. But he felt Sheppard's own body right on the edge, so even once he'd calmed down from the shocks, he kept up a gentle rocking motion, rubbing against the man's back, and twisted his wrist just so, laying a kiss of apology on John's shoulder as he watched a rather weak orgasm pull itself from Sheppard, white strands mostly falling to the floor, only a smudge appearing on his tanned belly.

This time the entire room broke into applause save Brutus whose eyes were downcast and sad. The moment Rodney pulled out, two Scholars came forward and unlocked Sheppard's chains who would have fallen straight to the floor if not for Rodney catching him and laying him out in his lap, a mockery of Michelangelo’s Pieta. His eyes were lifeless, his breathing shallow. Rodney stared into those eyes seeking comfort, forgiveness, _life_ , and barely heard the Council member speaking.

“And so, on this day, John has been made an assistant. He is to serve to the best of his ability his Scholar. From here on out, he and his Scholar are welcome into the Temple given they respect its sacredness.”

Rodney laughed a little hysterically at that as Sheppard's eyes slid shut and he passed out. They wouldn't be coming back at any time, he didn't think. Certainly not the two of them. Brutus brought over a warm, wet washcloth and a blanket. After wiping the small traces of blood Rodney found along with come seeping out, he wrapped Sheppard into the fabric and let Brutus dress him. With Brutus' aid, he hefted Sheppard's slack weight into his arms and walked out of the room and following Brutus out to the courtyard where Ronon and Teyla slipped out from behind a statue.

“You never gave the signal,” Ronon grunted. “What happened to him?”

“I'm sorry, there was no way. I did what had to be done. Here, take him.” He let Ronon grab the naked Sheppard from him and turned away. “We've got to get his clothes and get back to Atlantis. We're overdue, anyway.”

Ronon stared at him for a moment before nodding. Teyla laid a hand on his arm, but he flinched away. He didn't deserve comfort. They just had to get John back.

Brutus caught his arm. “I am truly sorry, Rodney. I wish such a thing had never happened.”

“I know you are. I can't blame you, even if I want to,” Rodney replied with a bitter smile.

“Go with knowledge, my friend.”

Rodney fled down the hill after the rest of the team. 

Less than twenty minutes later, Ronon had Sheppard dressed (Rodney couldn't go near him), and Rodney had taken a shower and been sick twice, desperately wishing for mouthwash, while Teyla found them a chariot to bring them back to the village and the gate.

At some point, it seemed Delas and the woman Senator they'd seen had come to Teyla and apologized, expressing their well wishes to Lt. Colonel Sheppard (too late, Rodney thought) and asking that this not affect their trade agreement. Teyla recounted coolly on their ride back to the village that she'd informed them it was up to the colonel. She did accept several baskets of fruit, rounds of cheese, and caskets of the wine as consolation and recompense.

If Rodney had any say, they'd never go back to that planet, but he had a feeling that Carter, and even Sheppard, would overrule him on that. They didn't find many planets abundant in fruit. Which while he understood the good of the many, he wanted to punish Semenla for what they did to Sheppard. What they made him do. Himself, most of all.

Making it back to the gate, they passed through, Ronon carrying Sheppard through and straight to Keller in the infirmary under Carter's shocked gaze. The colonel had woken up once on the ride back, mumbling Rodney's name but before he'd even been able to acknowledge it, Sheppard slipped right back under.

“What happened, Rodney?” Carter asked immediately.

This was what he'd been fearing. Based on military codes and the colonel's own privacy, he wasn't sure how much he wanted to tell. Rather, he didn't want to tell any of it. But he had to have some kind of story. Teyla looked at him encouragingly.

He looked her right in the eye and said, “I know you're going to be upset, but I believe you should wait to speak with Sheppard. I prefer not to talk about it. I will file a report tomorrow.” That would give him time to come up with an SGC presentable recount of the story. He had a sneaky suspicion Carter might be more understanding than her position inferred after ten years of being on a gate team. Weird alien rituals were par for the course, weren't they? Didn't mean he wanted to explain it to her.

He carefully avoided the infirmary for the next three days as Sheppard was kept under watch. Ronon (who only had an inkling of what had happened) tried to convince him to go see the colonel. Zelenka muttered, “Go away and see him. Will make you feel better and leave us to work in peace,” to which Rodney steadily ignored, instead burying himself in work. Carter didn't bother him, or even blink when she read through his one-page report of the materials the Semenlan's had to offer and the suggestion that if they were to continue trading, strictly women should go. While the Temple of Scholars had seemed promising, it was in fact devoid of any pertinent information to the Atlantis expedition and not worth revisiting.

Sheppard woke up on the second day, supposedly clear-headed and in full control of his faculties. He wrote his report and sent it to Carter on the third day before he was released by Keller. Rodney hacked in and snuck a glance at it. It consisted of items very similar to Rodney's, including the stress on military members only – no scientists – as well as mentioning an alien ritual that no one would have to go through again, and that peaceful relations were possible. 

It made Rodney sick and the cold terror that had seized him right after the act, failed to leave. He took sleeping pills each night, trying to drown out any dreams and hid in his work. Once Sheppard was released, he avoided the mess hall any time he thought the colonel might go and as their team was on stand-down for two weeks to allow Sheppard to 'recover', Rodney didn't see him. Ronon and Teyla acted as the go between, telling him how he was improving, that he was back up to his usual five-minute mile, and that sometimes he asked about McKay. 

It went on like that for two weeks until he walked into his room one late night to find all the lights off. Moving to turn them on, he heard his voice.

“Don't.”

Rodney slouched against the wall, just able to make out Sheppard's tight posture. Apparently, he'd been his usual easy going self around the city, laughing and slouching as usual (Rodney had almost run into him twice before scurrying off), but from here it was obvious Sheppard wasn't comfortable. Probably wouldn't ever be again.

“Well, if you've come here to say I'm off the team or punch me or whatever is going through your mind, please just do it and leave. I'm tired.”

Sheppard stood and wandered over, half way across the room from him. Then his shoulders slouched, and his hands slid into his packets, voice affecting an easy, casual tone. “What were you thinking? Before it happened, I mean.”

“Excuse me?” Rodney was surprised. He'd prepared himself for a lot of terrible consequences, but Sheppard wanting to know his thoughts? Talking about feelings? What the hell was that?

“Oh, you know. Heightmeyer's replacement, Doctor Wilson or whatever his name is, he suggested I talk about whatever my experience was. So here I am.”

“Well, that's nice and all, Colonel, but I'd really rather not. He wants to hear it apparently, why don't you tell him?”

“Because I want to know what you were thinking the whole time. He can't tell me that.” Sheppard stepped forward, into a gleam of light through the window, eyes sparking menacingly.

“Umm, if you remember correctly, you started it. If you hadn't insisted on accompanying me--”

“I take care of my team members, McKay!” the other man hissed. “You're the most vulnerable on the team, the biggest liability. It's my job to stay with you.”

“Liability?” he huffed, but Sheppard kept going.

“I was playing along. And then out of nowhere, I take a morning walk and three of the guards just seize me and drag me up the hill following that assistant, Samuel. I knew I was in deep shit, then, but no one heeded my calls. They started droning on about holy ground and sex and initiations and it was then that I got a glimmer, just a small piece of what was going to happen to me.

“Then they stripped me down and coated me in that crap, tied me, and that's when it hit me. They planned on raping me. Now, I've heard stories of people getting into trouble because they weren't virgins, but never the other way around. Excuse me for happening to be heterosexual.”

He began pacing, agitated and aborted gestures accompanying his speech. Rodneytried to convince Atlantis to swallow him whole.

“Then you show up. And I see it in your face.”

After a moment of silence that dragged out too long, Rodney licked his lips and asked, “What?”

“You wanted me,” Sheppard replied simply, flatly. “I mean, I thought I'd known that. And hey, I was fine with it. You weren't acting on it. And sometimes, I thought to myself that if there were ever a guy...you might be it.”

“You, what?!” he stuttered out. This was not happening, _not happening..._

“I didn't let you kill yourself with that Ancient machine for purely team purposes, McKay. I'd have thought a smart guy like you might have noted that by now. The team bit was certainly true, but it was more than that.

“And so here I am, naked, tied up, and Rodney McKay is looking at me like I'm the new chocolate shipment off the Daedalus. Flattering, maybe, in different circumstances. Then they drone on and suddenly, you're volunteering to do it yourself. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?” 

“How should I know? You act as though you would have preferred the other guys!”

“I would have!” Sheppard yelled, running a hand through his hair. “The guy I considered a friend is volunteering to _rape_ me? How would _you_ feel?”

“I'd have preferred it to be you or Ronon, or I don't know, someone I knew wouldn't _hurt me_ than some stranger!” he snapped, pushing away from the wall, indignation making him bold. He'd done what he'd thought best given the situation. He didn't expect to be forgiven, but he expected acknowledgment of that, at least.

“All I know is you wanted me and didn't do anything to stop it. You didn't try to stop them, come up with some scientific save the day device...nothing. And then...you were actually hard. You came _inside me_. You enjoyed it!”

Rodney scrambled for purchase, the world tilting around him as he tried to understand. “You'd have preferred I just stood and watched you get made assistant to someone else, stuck there on the planet till we got back to Atlantis and could mount a rescue mission? Are you out of your fucking mind? I couldn't have done it. I might have seemed uncaring to your plight, but believe me, it was the hardest thing I've had to do _in my life_. John, you're accusing me of enjoying raping you. What kind of monster do you take me for?” He spat, he was so angry, but Sheppard wasn't one bit phased. “You're the one who demanded I just keep going. They never said you had to be fucked with someone's cock. You pushed and pushed and...”

He couldn't keep going. The anger and shame were still there, but now he was biting back hot tears and Rodney McKay did not cry under any circumstance. 

“Leave. I'll give my team resignation to Carter in the morning, but I don't want you here. You have no idea how sorry I am, but I can't deal with this.”

“You have no idea, McKay,” Sheppard started before he was right in his face. “No idea of what it feels like to be put in a situation like that. To have your friend fuck you. To have your own body _betray_ you like that.”

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? John was angry with him, sure, might never forgive him. But what he certainly could never forgive, was his own reaction. He probably hated Rodney and himself for making him come as much as he hated the rape itself, if not more.

This close, Rodney noticed a weird gleam to Sheppard's expression right before he struck. He found himself manhandled around, face pushed into the wall and his pants being undone. He pushed fruitlessly to make the other man stop, but he didn't. And being treated like this, it was as much as he deserved. 

Rodney was almost instantly hard.

“You've got to understand, what it's like.”

Wasn't this the most fucked up thing, ever? Sheppard was rubbing all along Rodney's back, undoing his own pants, belt jingling, thigh holster slipping lower down so that it poked Rodney in the knee. His knee knocked Rodney's legs apart until he was braced spread-eagle against the wall. His cock slid in between his cheeks and they both gasped out loud.

“Tell me to stop, McKay.”

Rodney kept his mouth quiet. It might not have been entirely willing, but Rodney never said no as he heard John spit into his palm, knowing it was going to hurt.

Indeed, as Sheppard entered him, everything burned. His vision danced with red and yellow spots as he squeezed them shut, scratching at the wall. He threw his head back with a high-pitched moan as Sheppard bit his ear sharply, grunting and breathing heavily. Eventually, he was all the way in and they both rested against the wall. 

Slowly, Rodney slid a hand back, cradling John's hip, rubbing gentle circles on the soft, fragile skin. It caused something to break, and suddenly he was being shoved against the wall repeatedly, rocking up on his toes with each thrust, trying to accommodate. Sheppard let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob and so despite the pain, despite the perverse pleasure he was getting, he kept a soothing hand on the colonel's hip, hoping to fix whatever was between them.

Sheppard eventually came with a yell torn out of his throat and he pulled out, just resting against Rodney's back, breathing harshly. One hand crept up to wrap around his chest, pulling them closer. Rodney hadn't come, and his ass burned, but he was none worse for the wear. Sheppard was right, he could never know what it had been like. But he had to believe what he'd done was the right thing or he'd go crazy. He rested his forehead against the cool wall, pants falling down past his knees to the floor.

“Can you forgive me? Someday?” he asked quietly.

Sheppard pulled away, tucking himself back in, making himself presumably presentable again. “I don't know, McKay. I just...” his voice trailed off regretfully.

Without moving, Rodney tried again. “John, I--”

“Don't call me that.” Sheppard's voice was cold and sharp. Professional. “Please.” That was a bit softer.

Rodney nodded against the wall. They were silent for another minute, then Sheppard left.

As he exited, his fingers trailed over Rodney's shoulders, just barely there, but a resolution of some sort.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com)!


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